I'm happy to send you virtual hugs and sympathy and empathy because the story of the daughter, not the father, not listening deeply resonates with me (or to be more exact, I heard but was paralyzed by fear and shame.) Thank you for republishing this essay.
As for what you continue to write ... all I ask is that you write. I take in a hefty dose of politics already, how can I not when it is my so-called president taking a wrecking ball to American democracy and the rules-based international order. But clear, thoughtful, contextual political writing is in short supply (imho). Yes, we have Snyder and Krugman and HCR and Joyce White Vance here on Substack, and I read them. Too many people write politics in order to trigger a reaction, not to elicit thoughtful comment. You are not one of those. So ... write on. As you say, anyone who doesn't want to read your essay, can just move on. Please, don't censure yourself. 🩷
I love both versions of this piece, yesterday’s and today’s. I completely “get it,” that queer yet full feeling of unleashing a personal missive onto the interwebs. The immediate rush of adrenaline AND cortisol, battling to dominate my sensitivities, flattens my delicate scaffold of an ego. Most days I can’t even write, let alone publish—I feel THAT naked. So your offerings, my dear Sister Godiva, whether personal or political, are an inspiration for me. I grieve for your struggles, but they are not in vain.
This is beautiful—deeply beautiful—writing. As someone who writes essays and memoir that inevitably are exposing (for better or worse), I understand. Sending you a virtual hug which I hope you will not find cringey.
My best friend, more like a sister, who was an immeasurable solace to me in every aspect of life, died about a year ago, unexpectedly. I feel at times I’ve fallen into a deep sea, trying to swim through the grief. I have not yet re-found my equilibrium. You have my warmest thoughts, sympathy, fellow feelings of encouragent.
Very, very nice post. “A number of these (notebook entries) are quite personal, but I felt more comfortable looking at them now with that wiser angel of Time sitting at my side as co-editor.” Many other lines would deserve to be quoted. Each of us is allowed to fly. For a while.
A virtual hug -- I have been there, one of the worst places in this life to be. My only advice would be to let yourself feel it all. You will fly again.
Dear God. I have tears running down my cheeks, for the selfish reason that I, too, have stood in that hospital room. My heart is with you today.
I have always been fascinated by Icarus, and, ironically, I just posted a poem yesterday with an Icarus image. I don't usually link like this, but here it is.
By the way, political writing is fine by me. You know me; I'll read anything you write. Additionally, the situation is pressing now. We're all trying to make sense of our best, next move--how to help without dying, or understanding that our risk of dying is still statistically low if we get out there with our whistles, but not impossible. How to live in integrity.
Virtual hugs and care from far away, and I think I will say empathy perhaps, although being more precise would say more on personal topics than I would do here. Write on topics as you see fit, as much as I prefer other topics, and greatly enjoy your trips down other paths, politics cannot be fled from these days. We must fix it with the stare it deserves and bathe it with floodlights.
I read this because you asked, said it was hard to write. Brave. A brush with the sun is brave. Your metaphors are gorgeous, but what's making me cry is your ability to say you do not want to get personal then to state outright something deeply personal,.e., breaking, that you felt or feel broken yet know too that you flew, had wings. Yes. Wax melts. So does empathy. Ugh, my words are not working - but I love this piece, thank you. Right now this whole world seems too hot to handle. Don't know you but I send compassion for your sorrow, and a plea to keep writing.
I'm normally weird about sympathy and "virtual hugs" and all that, but in this case I'll take it if you have any you want to give. 💜
I'm happy to send you virtual hugs and sympathy and empathy because the story of the daughter, not the father, not listening deeply resonates with me (or to be more exact, I heard but was paralyzed by fear and shame.) Thank you for republishing this essay.
As for what you continue to write ... all I ask is that you write. I take in a hefty dose of politics already, how can I not when it is my so-called president taking a wrecking ball to American democracy and the rules-based international order. But clear, thoughtful, contextual political writing is in short supply (imho). Yes, we have Snyder and Krugman and HCR and Joyce White Vance here on Substack, and I read them. Too many people write politics in order to trigger a reaction, not to elicit thoughtful comment. You are not one of those. So ... write on. As you say, anyone who doesn't want to read your essay, can just move on. Please, don't censure yourself. 🩷
I love both versions of this piece, yesterday’s and today’s. I completely “get it,” that queer yet full feeling of unleashing a personal missive onto the interwebs. The immediate rush of adrenaline AND cortisol, battling to dominate my sensitivities, flattens my delicate scaffold of an ego. Most days I can’t even write, let alone publish—I feel THAT naked. So your offerings, my dear Sister Godiva, whether personal or political, are an inspiration for me. I grieve for your struggles, but they are not in vain.
You've said it perfectly. I share your feelings. And thank you.
This is beautiful—deeply beautiful—writing. As someone who writes essays and memoir that inevitably are exposing (for better or worse), I understand. Sending you a virtual hug which I hope you will not find cringey.
No cringe. All needed and accepted.
My best friend, more like a sister, who was an immeasurable solace to me in every aspect of life, died about a year ago, unexpectedly. I feel at times I’ve fallen into a deep sea, trying to swim through the grief. I have not yet re-found my equilibrium. You have my warmest thoughts, sympathy, fellow feelings of encouragent.
Thank you 💜
Whatever you write, I will read.
💜
Very, very nice post. “A number of these (notebook entries) are quite personal, but I felt more comfortable looking at them now with that wiser angel of Time sitting at my side as co-editor.” Many other lines would deserve to be quoted. Each of us is allowed to fly. For a while.
Beautifully said about the ache we who share in major grief and regret share. Yet Icarus also flew - yes! Thank you for the risk of sharing! ❤️
The first thing I thought of was hope is the thing with feathers...we want to believe...we need to hope
Sending love and light to the far lonely shore🫂✨️
A virtual hug -- I have been there, one of the worst places in this life to be. My only advice would be to let yourself feel it all. You will fly again.
My hugs are flying to you, Summer.
I went to the Daedelus entry:
"I am stitching together
these wings out of wax and surgical gloves
I am melting down the ore of a life, engineering
a future in which he
is still with us
I am stitching together
stitching together
these wings with which we will both
I am sure of it
fly home."
Dear God. I have tears running down my cheeks, for the selfish reason that I, too, have stood in that hospital room. My heart is with you today.
I have always been fascinated by Icarus, and, ironically, I just posted a poem yesterday with an Icarus image. I don't usually link like this, but here it is.
https://open.substack.com/pub/katherinegracebond/p/falling-boy?utm_campaign=post-expanded-share&utm_medium=web
By the way, political writing is fine by me. You know me; I'll read anything you write. Additionally, the situation is pressing now. We're all trying to make sense of our best, next move--how to help without dying, or understanding that our risk of dying is still statistically low if we get out there with our whistles, but not impossible. How to live in integrity.
One more virtual hug coming your way.
😭💜
Simply beautiful 🙏🏼🙏🏼🙏🏼
And because you are open to receiving them now, virtual hugs sent to that far shore.
I'll need all of it, thank you. From you it feels like a real hug too 💜
Oh, and by the way, I love it when you write about politics too. Don’t stop ✊🏼
Virtual hugs and care from far away, and I think I will say empathy perhaps, although being more precise would say more on personal topics than I would do here. Write on topics as you see fit, as much as I prefer other topics, and greatly enjoy your trips down other paths, politics cannot be fled from these days. We must fix it with the stare it deserves and bathe it with floodlights.
I read this because you asked, said it was hard to write. Brave. A brush with the sun is brave. Your metaphors are gorgeous, but what's making me cry is your ability to say you do not want to get personal then to state outright something deeply personal,.e., breaking, that you felt or feel broken yet know too that you flew, had wings. Yes. Wax melts. So does empathy. Ugh, my words are not working - but I love this piece, thank you. Right now this whole world seems too hot to handle. Don't know you but I send compassion for your sorrow, and a plea to keep writing.
Jack Gilbert here is the perfect consolation.